Anno Domini Nostri Dean Winchester
by Catslynw
Summary: Pre-Series through Season 6: Collection of related one-shots spanning the life of Dean Winchester, the righteous toddler and the angel who watches over him as he grows year by year. Dean/Castiel friendship fic – will be both serious and funny.
1. Chapter 1

Anno Domini Nostri Dean Winchester

Year -5

When the summons came, Castiel was in midst of observing a human conflict in a place called Iraq. When last he was there, it had been known as Ur. The land had been richer then, more fertile and the people more colorfully dressed. Now, the humans were firing projectile weapons at one another, some from armored vehicles, others from fortified positions behind crumbling mud-brick walls. One human lay dead beside a vehicle. Another two were dead inside one of the buildings. The air was heavy with the mixed odor of blood, fecal matter, cooking oil, nitrates and sulfates. Castiel did not understand this conflict. None of the humans trying to kill each other actually knew one another. Their surface thoughts were a jumble of irrelevancies and anxiety. One man continually cursed demons in his mind, which Castiel found particularly confusing as there were no demons within a thousand cubits of this place.

"Why do they fight?" he asked his comrades. Uriel, lower ranked than himself, was unlikely to know much more than he did, but Anael was both wise and experienced. More, she seemed to have a special understanding of human emotions and motivations.

"They fight because they are brutish savages. No other reason is required," Uriel intoned sententiously.

"As always when discussing the humans, Uriel, you tread a line perilously close to blasphemy," Anael chastised him. Her words were calm, her inflections betraying only a hint of impatience. Uriel said nothing more, and after a moment, Anael went on. "They fight because they are afraid. They fear everything they do not understand, everything that is different, everything that is uncertain. They fear death, and so they seek comfort in our Father. He is their bedrock in a world of shifting sand, but when another of their kind questions the nature of our Father, disagrees with their conception of Him, that bedrock quakes. Too often they turn to violence to settle their disagreements about Him and about other matters they consider to be of importance: food, shelter, power, breeding, money. It is fear that makes them lash out at one another."

"You say that I blaspheme, yet your considered judgment is not incompatible with my own opinion and far more critical."

"You misconstrue my meaning. It is their very fear which lends them nobility, for when they overcome that fear, they are capable of… miraculous things. Be not so quick to judge, Uriel." Anael spoke placidly enough, but – as so often in the recent past – Castiel sensed a strange fire lurking beneath the surface of her words. Another such fire burned just below the surface of her mind, cloaking her thoughts in secrecy, making them inaccessible to lesser angels, and casting an uneasy light on all her actions. At times he felt that something was wrong with Anael. She had been his commander and comrade for many hundreds of years, and Castiel knew her as he knew few other beings. Now, something was changing inside her. He would have sworn it, and yet, that could not be. Heaven had sent their battalion here, to this place and time with Anael to command and guide them. Heaven did not make mistakes, could not err and so… the trouble must be in Castiel's perception rather than in Anael. He was young, inexperienced beside many of his brethren, though he had risen quickly enough through the ranks. The fault had to be in him. It was not a comfortable thought, and Castiel buried his uncertainty deep within himself lest others, like Uriel, suspect the truth. If there was something wrong with him, then he would correct it. If necessary, he would seek Anael's help. She was driven and demanding, but she was not unkind. She would help him if it were possible. And, in the meantime, he would watch Anael and seek to understand what it was in her actions and within himself that left him with such troubled thoughts.

Anael turned away from the conflict and, with a brush of her wings, folded space about her and stepped through to their next destination. Uriel trailed after her, a sardonic look on his too beautiful features. Castiel had once heard Uriel's beauty compared to that of the Dawn Star himself. It was another uncomfortable thought. Gathering himself, Castiel was just about to follow after them, when he felt the summons. It was more than the simple call-to-arms to which he was accustomed, more than an order to present himself. This summons had physical power behind it, had hooks which seemed to catch themselves in his grace and pull him bodily away. He was not alarmed. If Heaven beckoned, he went. Duty and obedience were not a matter of choice. They simply were. But the manner of the call itself was surprisingly urgent, and he found himself unexpectedly apprehensive. When the summons released him, Castiel found himself within the Garden, a place he had never before seen, and his apprehension grew exponentially. Could it be that Heaven had sensed his – no, not doubts, doubts was too strong a word. But if Heaven had sensed his concerns and decided that he was truly defective in some way...

Castiel stood perfectly still and at attention as three of the greater angels approached him, but he could not stop a tell-tale tremble in his wings when he realized whom he gazed upon. The three stopped in a semi-circle before him, and Castiel immediately abased himself before them. A Chesed, a Gevurah and a Tipheret. Never before in his short life had Castiel seen even one of these divine beings, let alone three from three separate orders whose nature he could only speculate upon… until now. Always before, his commands and instructions had come through others of his kind, like Anael. Though higher ranked and more experienced, she was still, in essence, like himself. Once, before a particularly perilous engagement with the fallen ones, the reviled Grigori, Castiel had gone with Anael to seek revelation. They had been visited and instructed in their duties by the archangel Rafael. Since then, Castiel had seen archangels but infrequently, had spoken to them less, but they were not unknown to him. And once, just once, from a great distance, he had seen one of the Netzach, the Heavenly princes from whom even the archangels received their orders. He had never thought to see more. Soldiers such as he did not consort with the divine hosts of Heaven. It simply did not happen. Had they commands for him or his kind, those commands would come through revelation, through superiors in their own order. To be called before such a triumvirate in his own person… Castiel's knew his offense must be more grave than ever he had suspected, the mistake within him more dire. But surely, surely an archangel would simply have been sent to end him. Castiel would end his own existence if the order was given, or Anael or Uriel would have done it for him in kindness and kinship. What could these beings possibly want with his actual presence?

"Are you certain he is the one?" the Tipheret demanded of the others and Castiel could feel it considering him in evident dissatisfaction. "His thoughts are chaotic and disordered, filled with misconceptions and doubts." The Tipheret, which Castiel's studies told him that humans would call a Power, was a creature of balance and order, an instrument of harmony in the universe, and clearly it did not approve of him.

"His doubts are only of himself. He has perfect faith in our Father and in Heaven. His devotion is pure, his trust absolute," replied the Chesed, whom humans would call a Dominion. "He is merely young. He is the one we seek." The ancient angel spoke with absolute certainty, as if daring Castiel to behave in any manner that could call its judgment of him into question. Even as the trembling of his wings increased, Castiel sought to ease the turbulence within his spirit, to calm the whirling thoughts within his mind. These were not the beings charged with punishment or destruction. Whyever he was here, it was not for some unknown offense. Peace, Castiel, he told himself. Peace. His wings ceased to shake, his thoughts ceased to race, and he awaited revelation in stillness.

"Better," the Tipheret noted calmly. "You may gaze upon on us child. Lift your eyes."

Castiel did as he was bid and regarded the three solemnly and with no small curiosity. The angels of his own daily existence looked much as humans did, but these three great ones did not. The Tipheret looked to his eyes as a starry night sky given form. Its outline was human in shape, with no visible suggestion of wings, but where features should have been there was only a deep black void reflecting distant points of ancient light. Beautiful, but cold to look upon. Castiel turned his gaze the being at the other end of the semicircle. The Chesed, by contrast, looked entirely human, more so even than Castiel. The being reminded him a vague way of a Scandinavian soldier he had observed for some weeks with his battalion many decades before. Tall and broad, with a gleaming sword upon each hip, and a burnished helmet upon his brow, the Chesed looked more ready to do battle than any angel Castiel had ever seen. Yet he had never heard tell of one of the great ones actually going into battle. It was… curious.

There was a soft laugh from the being at the center of the group. Castiel turned his gaze to the Gevurah, but dropped his eyes again almost instantly, for the Gevurah was too bright to look upon. The Shining Ones, they were called. The Virtues. It was the Gevurah who had performed the miracles of old, who had taught mankind to gaze toward the skies in awe and wonder. Castiel had only a fleeting impression of four blue-feathered wings, a glimpse of sure hands clasping what looked in one moment like a sword and cup and in the next like a shield and cross, before his eyes were dazzled beyond comprehension. The Gevurah was the most radiant being he had ever seen, and Castiel knew how truly small and insignificant he was by comparison. The ancient one laughed again.

"We all have our place and our purpose, child. Rise," she instructed him. Castiel rose, but he kept his gaze upon his feet less he be blinded by their combined glory. "We come in the name of the Binah," the Gevurah intoned. "The Great Thrones have foreseen. A child will soon be conceived on Earth, a sacred child. You will watch over this child."

Castiel's thoughts began to whirl once more, his confusion growing anew.

"Speak your questions, Castiel."

"Are not all our Father's children sacred to him?" Castiel could sense the Chesed and the Tipheret regarding him with disfavor, but the Gevurah seemed untroubled.

"Peace, my brothers. His question is valid, his motives true. He is our Father's most devout son. Be patient with his ignorance." Castiel felt his own hackles rise slightly at mention of his ignorance, but he quickly tamped down such an unworthy feeling. Pride had no place in his spirit. He was but his Father's tool, humility his only true birthright. The Gevurah continued on, and if she heard his thoughts, she did not remark upon them. "All of humanity is precious to our Father, it is true," she explained, "but the child to be born is both sacred and holy. His life will have great meaning. His very existence shall forever change the future of humanity and of Heaven itself. A righteous soul shall soon be born."

Once more Castiel began to shake, but not this time in fear. After centuries of observing humanity, he sometimes felt he was no closer to understanding its great purpose, but what angel could comprehend the God's plan? That humanity had some special destiny, Castiel did not doubt. God had said it was so, and so it was. But this… a human child whose coming would change Heaven itself? Only once before had Castiel heard tell of such a thing, and that child had been the Christ. Still, what the Thrones saw did not always come to pass, or sometimes did not come to pass in precisely the way in which they had foreseen. It had been explained to Castiel once, when he was very much younger than he was now, that this was due to the unique nature of the human soul. Free will was woven into the very fabric of their beings, and no future, with them, was ever immutable.

"This foretelling, it is certain?" he asked humbly.

"Yes," The Chesed replied. "The Cherubim see to the child's conception even now."

"And I am to watch over this child?"

"Yes," they answered in unison.

"My battalion…"

"Your battalion will be informed of your reassignment. If they have need of you, arrangements may be made. All is in hand. Do not fear, Castiel, and do not doubt the will of Heaven. Everything will happen precisely as it must," the Tipheret assured him.

"I do not doubt," he replied hesitantly. "It is only that I feel unworthy of such a task."

"You are worthy," they replied, once more in perfect unison.

"Go now, Castiel," the Gevurah instructed him. "Go to a place called Lawrence. You will know the child you seek when you see him. His name is Dean Michael Winchester."

*Authors note: The next chapter won't be nearly so serious, so stay tuned for the comedy hour. Thanks to my beta, Eideann. And for those who are interested, Brotherly Love is now completed, though I may add a fifth chapter (in flashback) later if people are interested in reading more about the Winchester cousin, Father Sean Rourke. Take care and happy reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Anno Domini Nostri Dean Winchester

Year 0

It was several years before Castiel was able to leave Heaven and go in search of his charge. For one thing, for some time after he was informed of his mission, his charge did not yet exist. The Gevurah had told him that the Cherubim were seeing to the birth of a sacred child, but to Castiel's admittedly young and impatient mind, they seemed to be taking their time about it. Then, what more could one expect from a creature so undisciplined and flighty as a Cherub? So, like every soldier since time began, the angel waited for the moment when action would be finally called for. In the meanwhile, he endured endless lectures and lessons from his triad of superiors. Instructions were given, changed, given anew and then changed once more. Those of Castiel's peers stationed in Heaven or passing through on some business avoided him. Perhaps they, like he, were intimidated by the presence of so many angels of the higher orders. Castiel was growing accustomed to his three teachers, the Tipheret, the Gevurah and the Chesed, but he had not grown comfortable in their presence. He did not believe he ever would. They were too strange, too uncanny, too close to his revered Father. And they were impatient with him. At least, the Tipheret and the Chesed were impatient. Castiel missed Anael's calm, steady instruction, her endless patience with his questions. He even missed Uriel's often incomprehensible sense of humor. But more than anything, he wished the Cherubim would hurry up. He would gladly endure a hundred cherubic greetings if only they would come and tell him that all was accomplished, and that his charge had been conceived at last. It pained him to know that his mission depended from its inception upon the assistance of Cherubs.

Then, at last, the Chesed said the words he had longed to hear. "The child is come, young one. Go now."

Castiel did not hesitate. Spreading wide his wings, he caught the currents of the solar wind and allowed his instincts to take him. In a moment he was on Earth, standing on a sidewalk in Lawrence, Kansas. He stood before a great stone building. The timepiece in the clock tower chimed, marking the hour: two of the clock. Many humans passed by him, unaware of his presence, entering and exiting the building upon some business they no doubt considered important. A sign on the carefully kept lawn read, "Douglas County Courthouse." His instincts had brought him to a place of judgment. For an instant Castiel was alarmed, remembering his earlier concerns, the doubts that had plagued him regarding Anael and his ultimate conclusion that the fault had to lie within himself rather than within his superior. Why should he come here?

Then he saw her. A human female sat on a bench alongside the walkway that lead to the building's main entrance. She was young, no older than her mid-twenties, and she was eating a sandwich. As she ate, her eyes, a light clear blue, remained fixed on the courthouse doors. She appeared not so much nervous or anxious as expectant to Castiel's untutored eyes, and she was, in more than one way. Moving closer, the angel could see that the woman radiated the light not merely of a single human soul, but of two. She was pregnant, and Castiel was at last in the presence of his charge. He felt an immense sense of satisfaction to know that he was in the correct place and time to fulfill the duties Heaven had assigned to him. He did not, of course, feel excitement. That was a human emotion, one he had often observed while on assignment with his battalion. It was extremely undignified, and as an angel, he was beyond such things. But satisfaction was an acceptable response, and he allowed himself a small smile, not so much a wrinkle of the lips as a certain perky set to his wings. Dean Michael Winchester was now officially his charge.

He was not, however, doing anything of particular interest inside his mother's womb. The child was but a week old and had only just implanted himself upon the wall of his mother's uterus. For the moment, Castiel knew, the child would do nothing but grow, his cells dividing again and again, slowing building the framework that would hold his human soul fast throughout his mortal life. Castiel did not mind. He was trained to patience, trained to long waits, trained to watch with diligence but no sense of urgency. He could wait as long as was needed.

In the meantime, there was always the woman to watch. Castiel approached no closer, but he contemplated his charge's mother from across the manicured lawns. By human standards, he believed that she would be considered aesthetically pleasing, but it was difficult to tell for certain because of his own bias. Many angels considered humans to be ugly and misshapen creatures when compared to their celestial siblings. Many, in fact, objected to the entire idea that humanity should be seen as their siblings at all. As such, they were poor judges of human appearance. Castiel had a very different problem, for he found most humans attractive, the light of their magnificent souls shining with a luminosity that was beautiful to him. He had learned not to speak of it lest he be mocked by his brethren. But he was alone on this mission, and there was no one to chastise him for the pleasure he found in gazing upon the pregnant woman. Her own soul was bright and when combined with that of the child… they were dazzling to behold. The Tipheret, the Gevurah, they were creatures of incredible beauty, but it was a beauty that filled Castiel with a cold and terrified awe. The light that emanated from the human woman filled him only with warmth and a sense of growing wonder. All human children were precious, but she carried a sacred child, a child that Castiel would come to know well. Now he could not deny his feelings. This, then, was excitement.

Moving nearer, knowing the human would not see him, Castiel placed himself close enough to gently brush the surface of her mind with his thoughts. He withdrew hastily, startled and dismayed by the tangle of fears and anxieties that he found there. On the surface, the woman – he now knew her name was Mary Campbell; age, twenty-three years; occupation, retired hunter – calmly ate her sandwich and drank from a small thermos of coffee. Beneath the surface, her emotions roiled. In his brief and aborted contact with her mind, Castiel had picked up a few scattered words and images. John. License. Warding. Demon. Rent. How could one mind think so many thoughts at once? How could one human contain so much worry without exploding? And still she sat, quietly eating her sandwich and watching the courthouse doors.

Castiel knew the instant that John Winchester emerged from the building, for the woman wrapped the remains of her sandwich back in its waxed paper, tucked it and the thermos into her bag and hastened to meet him. The man, nearly as beautiful as she, rushed down the walkway toward her, grinning broadly and waving a small piece of paper. "I got it!" he called. He caught her up in his arms and swung her in a circle so enthusiastically that, for a moment, Castiel feared for the safety of his charge. He did nothing, however. He had learned that humans were more sturdy than their fragile appearance would suggest, and he knew beyond any doubt that the Tipheret would frown upon his smiting the father of his charge without due cause. Not that the angel was allowed to take violent action against anyone at this stage of his mission. His superiors had made that order quite clear. The angel's attention had wavered briefly. Focusing back on the couple, Castiel heard the man say, "We can get married tomorrow. No more waiting. No more delays. You're going to be Mrs. John Winchester at last." His smile broadened, if such a thing were possible. The woman smiled as well, her eyes filling with tears of seeming joy, but Castiel could not help but wonder at what turbulent thoughts might be passing in her mind, hidden from sight.

The couple walked away, heading for a black car that was parked beneath a branching elm tree on the edge of adjacent parking lot. Castiel started to follow after them, but he stopped in his tracks when he felt the tug of the summons. The triad was calling for him, and duty demanded he answer. With one brief, frustrated glance after his departing charge, the angel left Lawrence and the Winchesters behind.

Castiel fumed as he once more rode the solar currents back to Earth. It was not his place to question Heaven's dictates or the wisdom of his superiors, but the days that had passed since last he was with his charge seemed utterly pointless to the angel. There had been endless questions about what he had seen and experienced. The triad wanted to know what he made of his charge and the child's family. Castiel had answered them with complete honesty and as much detail as he could, but clearly they wished for more. They seemed, in fact, desperate for more, and Castiel feared that he must be inadequate to the task which they had assigned to him. Had he found his charge? Yes. Had he seen his charge? Not entirely, only the reflection of the child's soul shining through his mother's own light. What did he think of Dean Michael Winchester? The child's soul seemed unusually bright even for one so young and innocent. Was that all? It was all that Castiel felt qualified to say. His charge was still exceptionally young and had only just begun to develop. What did Castiel think of John Winchester? He had not had sufficient time to observe him, and did not yet think himself capable of rendering an opinion.

"You must have noticed something," the Chesed pressed. "Tell us."

Castiel fought for calm. The triad was agitated and anxious, a state he had never before seen in any angel. Perhaps they were reconsidering his appointment. Willing himself to be calm, not to make needless suppositions, Castiel told them the only thing he could about John Winchester. "He seemed very devoted to Mary Campbell."

"Yes," the Gevurah agreed. "The Cherubim did excellent work there. I understand it was not easy to overcome the couple's natural repugnance for one another." Castiel frowned, if only internally. Repugnance? Surely not even a Cherub could bring about such a joyful union between two souls who despised one another.

"The Cherubim went too far, to my way of thinking," the Tipheret complained, the stars that spangled its dark body swirling in irritation. "The relationship is entirely out of balance. Its skewed nature may adversely affect the outcome of our efforts."

"All will be well, brother," the Chesed assured him. "The Cherubim were given very specific instructions and they have carried them out precisely. These two humans will never again find peace or contentment but when they are together. All is proceeding according to plan. Now, Castiel, tell us what you thought of Mary Campbell."

Castiel had answered, though the angel found himself surprisingly reluctant to discuss the young woman and her troubled thoughts with his superiors. It seemed somehow disrespectful, an unforgivable violation of her reserve. But angels had no concept of privacy among their own kind and did not respect the privacy of their young half-brothers and sisters. So Castiel passed on what he had seen of Mary's doubts and fears. He understood little of what he told the triad, though they seemed to understand the information well enough.

Eventually, satisfied that they had gleaned all they could from him, the triad sent Castiel on his way. So he found himself now, some weeks later, arriving once more in Lawrence, Kansas. It was night when he landed on the sidewalk in front of a large, two-story house in the midst of an urban subdivision. Though all the houses in the area were new, having only been built within the last five years, the home of John and Mary Winchester was unique, graced by the presence of an ancient tree in its front yard. Like all of his kind, Castiel was fond of trees, and he gazed upon this one with pleasure before venturing into the domicile.

Though eager to see his charge directly, Castiel also knew that he must be prepared to report on the state of the Winchesters' home and marriage to the triad, and so he spent several days doing nothing but explore the strange new world of human domesticity that had been opened up to him. The room that fascinated him the most was the kitchen where Mary Winchester prepared the family meals. Angels did not eat. Upon taking a vessel, an angel could theoretically consume food and drink, but it was _not done, _and even if it were, Castiel had never yet taken a vessel. He watched Mary cook, watched them both eat, and found himself hoping devoutly that the odd-looking substances she prepared would not unduly harm the child growing within her.

And Dean was growing, both in body and soul. The radiance of his young, pure spirit grew more magnificent every day, and Castiel found it strange to think that Mary and John could not see the light of child's soul as easily as he could. Even with the radiance of Mary's own soul overlaying Dean's, wrapped protectively about the younger life, Dean's soul still shone through with a brightness that both awed and intimidated the angel. This _was_ a sacred child. John Winchester came and went at periodic intervals, and Castiel wondered how he could bear to be apart from them. Castiel did not look forward to the moment when he himself would be forced to leave in order to return to Heaven and make his next report. He wanted to be here, with Dean, and he had not even left yet.

When he was at last prepared to take a closer look at his charge, the Winchesters were in the kitchen. It seemed to be their favorite room. Mary was cooking dinner –charring the hide of some dead animal – while John methodically cleaned the inner workings of a sewing machine. "If you don't move that thing, there's going to be nowhere to put the pot roast," she complained. John looked up from his examination of a small gear and grinned at her. "Yes, but if I don't get this motor running again, my wife is going to make me do the dishes for a month." Mary smiled slyly and informed him that he had a mean, heartless wife. Castiel believed it was meant to be humorous, but he could not understand what, precisely, made it funny. Ignoring the conversation thereafter, he focused on the appearance of his charge and the child's mother. In the weeks since he had left, Mary Winchester had changed very little. The angel could perceive a slight thickening to her waist, and by now she must know that she was pregnant, but she showed no other outward sign. Anxious for a closer look at his charge, Castiel folded his wings about him, drew upon the boundless energy of Heaven, and carefully shifted through the walls of Mary Winchester's womb.

The changes in Dean were dramatic. He was now eight weeks old and developing rapidly. As humans counted such things, the child's age would be reckoned from the moment of his birth rather than the moment of his creation. It was a system that did not seem to make much sense to Castiel, but then little about humans did. For the moment however, the unborn child's age was reckoned from the end of his mother's last menstrual cycle. Humans were baffling. Putting aside his confusion, he took a closer look at the child. To his delight, he could hear Dean's heart beating steadily and quickly, faster even than the heartbeat of a small bird. Arms and legs, though hardly more than hints of the limbs they would one day be, were visible. He had ten webbed fingers and ten webbed toes. Castiel counted them. Twice. He wasn't certain why, but it seemed somehow very important to do so. Tiny eyes had begun to form, as had ears, and the angel smiled to think that Dean be able to see him one day soon. Then, one miniature arm moved spasmodically, and Castiel drew back in dismay. Eyes. Ears. Dean had _eyes_ and _ears_. Castiel had been warned long ago that most humans could not survive seeing an angel's true visage, could not even bear to hear an angel's true voice. He had made himself invisible to John and Mary, both to protect them and because no angel had been permitted to reveal itself to any human for more than two millennia, but what if… what if Dean was just special enough, just _different_ enough to see him? What if he was already harming the child merely by being so close to him? Near to a panic, Castiel rapidly withdrew from Mary's womb, withdrew even from the domicile, not stopping until he stood on the sidewalk before the house. What could he do? How could he be certain that –

"Calm down, Castiel. You can't hurt him," a familiar and reassuring voice spoke from behind him. Turning, the angel saw his former commander standing in the road.

"Anael, what are you doing here? Has there been some mistake? Am I being replaced?"

She shook her head, regarding him with a look that seemed to contain amusement and some other emotion he could not identify in equal measures. "No. This assignment is still yours, Castiel. I was merely curious about the exact nature of the mission for which you were summoned away so suddenly."

Castiel went very still, immensely relieved. She was not here to remove him his post. And yet, her reasons for coming seemed frivolous. In coming here, she had left her own post, and it seemed unlikely that the triad would have given permission for such a thing simply so Anael could satisfy her curiosity. What she was doing smacked of free will, even insubordination. It was… dangerous. If she was aware of his internal conflict, Anael ignored it. Stepping closer, she spoke of the child instead.

"You don't have to worry about accidentally harming the baby."

"How can you be certain? Do you know the child to be one of those special people who can perceive angels?"

"I know nothing of the kind. I do know, however, that the human fetus cannot see or hear until it has reached a certain stage of development. Until then, this child could not be harmed by seeing you even should you show yourself in your full glory. You could… dance a jig, and it would never know."

Castiel bristled. "He. The child is a male. You should not call him it." Uriel often referred to humans as "it." Castiel had never been comfortable with that habit, and he found that now he liked it even less than before.

"He," Anael agreed with an inclination of her head.

"You're certain I will cause him no discomfort?"

"I'm certain, Castiel. You see, he cannot feel pain yet, not of the flesh. His human body won't develop that capacity for some time. So be at ease, young one."

"But… but he _moved_," Castiel whispered, shame filling him at the certainty that he must somehow have frightened Dean even if he hadn't harmed him.

Anael laughed. "They do that from time to time. I promise you, it is normal." Then, folding her wings about her, Anael departed, leaving Castiel alone with his mission and his anxiety.


End file.
